Crossways

by Jacey Bedford

  She’d taken over Wes’ apartment, keeping his sparse furniture, but adding her own careless clutter. Ellen had helped her to recycle Wes’ clothing, but she kept his bed linen, fancying there was still something of him sleeping next to her when the bed felt too big for one.

  Wes’ affairs were all in order. What little he had in his account went to the farm at his request, and she offered his personal possessions to his fellow guards: an antique chrono that might have been his father’s, or might have been some random thing he’d picked up somewhere; a reading pad loaded with an assortment of nonfiction; an antique hairbrush with a pearlized back and bristles nearly worn away. Whatever significance these few items held was lost now, and would forever be.

  Kitty kept his image album for herself. There was a video and some stills of two dark-skinned people with a small boy. She studied their faces, trying to see where Wes’ solid good looks came from. Both of them, she decided eventually. There were other stills of people she didn’t recognize. She’d have to ask Ellen if she knew who they were and offer copies to anyone who wanted them.

  Half an hour came and went and still no Remus. It would be just her luck that he’d intrude as they scattered Wes’ ashes. She made her way to the elevator. The journey to the farm was much shorter from Wes’ low spindle apartment than it was from Port 22, but it still took fifteen minutes to the last hub where she met the others.

  They stepped onto the walkway in a line, standing in companionable silence.

  “Are you all right, Kitty?” Ellen whispered as they passed through the insect netting, layer by layer, and entered the farm.

  “I’m fine,” she said. When someone asked if you were all right, the last thing they really wanted to hear was that you were not.

  Captain Syke said the words as they scattered Wes’ ashes. They were good words, maybe not inspiring words, but solid, dependable ones, just like Syke himself. She hadn’t expected him to be a baby animal kind of person, but he seemed to take delight in the goats and their kids. Well, who didn’t love cute babies of all kinds. There was that phrase that stuck in her head: In the midst of life we are in death, but once you took the babies into account maybe it should be: In the midst of death we are in life. There was something so hopeful about babies. Life to come. Mistakes not yet made.

  Remus didn’t contact her while she was at the farm, for which Kitty was thankful. Instead she was just settling down with a cup of caff and Wes’ entertainment subscription when she felt the familiar mental handshake.

  *Report!*

  *You’re late,* she told him.

  *It’s the appointed day.*

  *You’re later than I’d like. A small team left by shuttle. I think they’re going to try and extract Benjamin’s family from Chenon.*

  *Who?*

  *Cara Carlinni, Lewis Bronsen, Ronan Wolfe, and Archie Tatum.*

  *Not Benjamin himself?*

  *He’s still recovering.*

  *Anything else?*

  *Isn’t that enough?* Yes, there’s more. We scattered the ashes of my lover today. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  She would have liked to tag along with Cara and company if they were going to stick it to Crowder. Wes Orton had been a good man, but Crowder had not cared about killing good men when he sent in the Alphabet Gang. The best she could do was keep Akiko Yamada and Alphacorp fully apprised of the situation. The Trust was rotten to the core.

  *Ms. Yamada has authorized a message from your mother. It’s in a regular mail packet. Watch out for it. You can send a reply via this office.*

  *Thank you.* She was surprised, but tried not to show it too much.

  Perspective. It was all about perspective. Maybe Alphacorp was not so bad after all.

  Ben paced the length of Blue Seven’s cavernous interior and tried not to worry about Cara. She was more than capable and he had to get over the idea that he was personally responsible for setting right the wrongs of the universe.

  “Hey, Boss, shouldn’t you be resting?”

  Dammit, if he heard that one more time . . .

  He turned to find Wenna close behind him. “Did Ronan prime every single person in this outfit to ask me that?”

  She smiled. “Pretty much. He guessed you’d be trying to do too much as soon as he was out of the way.”

  “I’m just taking a gentle walk around the block.”

  She hrmphed at him as only Wenna could. “Ronan said to tell you if you were going to get yourself back into shape, be sure to take plenty of fluids and rest between bouts of exercise.”

  “I will.”

  “Starting now.” She held out a water flask.

  “Starting now.” He took it and grinned.

  “And he said to tell you he’s cleared you for pilot duties as long as you have a full crew. No more gallivanting solo through the Folds.”

  Ben shivered. He wasn’t looking forward to that part of the journey. Truth to tell, the thought of going back into foldspace scared him more than a little. It happened to pilots and Navigators sometimes, occasionally on their first flight, occasionally on their hundred and first. You stare into the void often enough and it starts to stare back.

  “Are you all right, Boss?”

  “Yeah, Wenna, fine, thanks.”

  “I’ve known you a long time, and I’d say you’re anything but fine.”

  “Hones—”

  “And if you’re going to say, honestly I’m fine, then I know you’re bullshitting me.”

  He shrugged. “I’m as fine as I can be. I’ll make sure I’ve got a good crew with me. Yan Gwenn for starters.”

  “Make sure one of them is a psi-tech Navigator.”

  “I’m not taking Gen.”

  “I didn’t say it had to be Gen, though you could do worse. She won’t thank you for coddling her just because she’s pregnant, and she’s pretty much finished sorting out false idents and travel permits for all the guys who are bailing out.” Wenna shrugged. “There’s Kitty Keely. She’s the highest-rated Navigator you’ve got after you.”

  “Yeah, Kitty Keely . . . She didn’t do so well last time out.”

  Would Ben do any better himself, this time? Had the void stared back a little too intently? Had it said: I know you, tiny man?

  “Ben!” Jussaro caught up with him, taking two quick steps for every stride of Ben’s. “I need to come with you.”

  “Why?”

  Jussaro lowered his voice. “Because there are two scenarios. One, I call Crowder’s Telepath as soon as you depart for Chenon and let him know you’re coming—or, two, I don’t call and the instant Crowder discovers I’ve deliberately gone against his orders he hits that kill switch. I don’t want to betray you, Benjamin, but I don’t want to die either.”

  “Fair point, but how will coming with us help? You’ll be getting even closer to the source of your problem.”

  “I need to get into the Folds and see if I can float this implant out of my head like you did. Don’t look at me like that. I know it’s a long shot. But just in case, I’ve got Jamieson on standby to replace it as soon as we get back. He’s real interested in whether this can be done to order. You can see the possibilities, can’t you?”

  “I can, but you’re taking a lot on trust. I didn’t do it on purpose and I don’t know how I did it, or even if it was me that did it. Things got a little strange out there. What if you have to breathe vacuum and stick your head in a dragon’s mouth or be shredded to a pulp before it works?”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Ben nodded. “Come and welcome. It’s going to be an interesting ride, but not in a way that would make you want to post it to your S-LOG afterward.”

  “More than interesting. I just reported to Crowder’s Telepath. Don’t worry, I managed to leave out all the relevant bits of information, but I gleaned one piece of ne
ws. That Telepath’s not as tight as he thinks he is. Crowder’s no longer in Arkhad City.”

  “He isn’t? Any idea where he is?”

  “I got an echo of a thought. He’s someplace called Norro. You know where that is?”

  “Norro? Oh, yes.” Ben grinned. “He thinks he’s being clever. Thinks it’s the last place I’d look for him.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s where his ex-wife lives. She hates him. He knows I know that. He’s got to be desperate to put himself anywhere near Agnetha Sigurdsdottir.”

  “Agnetha. So kind of you to extend your hospitality.”

  Crowder stepped down from the flyer only after Wyndham, Danniri’s second, had sent a security detail to check out the house and grounds and declared the area safe.

  “Gabe, welcome. So good to see you again,” the ex-Mrs. Crowder said in her public voice. As he got close enough to kiss the air beside her cheek she whispered, “You didn’t give me much choice.” She eyeballed Wyndham. “Bit of a thug, isn’t he?”

  “A very efficient thug. Come and meet him.”

  Crowder put his arm around Agnetha’s sharp shoulders and though she shook him off she still turned to meet Wyndham with a glassy smile on her face.

  “Aggie, this is Drew Wyndham, my captain of security. His men answer only to him, and to me, of course. He’ll be in charge while I’m here.”

  “And how long will that be?” Aggie asked under her breath.

  “As long as it needs to be. Do I have to remind you that I own this property?”

  “You don’t have to, but you always do.” She cleared her throat, offered her hand, and in her public voice said, “Drew. Or is it Captain?”

  “Wyndham will do, ma’am.” He didn’t return the shake.

  “Welcome to my home.” There was a slight emphasis on both my and home.

  Crowder had to hand it to Aggie, she was always a mistress of last words and verbal one-upmanship. Perhaps coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all, but with the report from his man at Alphacorp that the long-expected rescue bid was imminent, staying in Trust HQ had lost its appeal. The big grapple game had to be a factor. If he were trying to mastermind a rescue he’d do it under cover of the big game. Perhaps they would, too.

  There was enough Trust security to stop a small army, but a well-placed bomb would be hard to hide from. He didn’t think Benjamin would willingly cause collateral damage, especially with his grandmother and the boy imprisoned on the premises, but it wasn’t a risk he was prepared to take.

  He’d laid his trap carefully and, he hoped, with subtlety. It was the pitcher-plant method, sucker them right in and then let them have it.

  Having Jussaro watching Benjamin was a distinct advantage. It was obvious that hirelings weren’t going to be enough to take Benjamin down, at least not on Crossways. He’d been so relieved when he’d thought Benjamin dead, but the man obviously wouldn’t stay dead. Time to finish it once and for all, lure him to Chenon and end it using the best men he had. Pav Danniri was itching to settle the score for her brother.

  He’d hoped to be there when she took Benjamin down, but a deadly skirmish in narrow corridors wasn’t a spectator sport. He’d have to make do with the security footage.

  He’d given Danniri Benjamin’s kill code. Carlinni’s had come from Akiko Yamada. She’d been eager to get it for him as soon as he let slip that Cara had accessed van Blaiden’s handpad.

  No one knew what information might have been on there. Handpads were generally coded with permanent and living files. The permanent files remained after death or detachment. The living files automatically erased in the event the handpad was forcibly removed or if the power source, the body’s own electrical energy, died. There was a very short window of opportunity between death and dissipation of the body’s natural power supply.

  The thought of what might be on that handpad ate at him. Until Benjamin, Carlinni, and all the psi-techs from the Olyanda mission were taken care of, he couldn’t relax. He fingered the small device in his right-hand pocket. The only way he’d been able to get Benjamin’s kill code onto a handheld device was to have it uniquely embedded into a one-time-use implant-killer. The one in his left-hand pocket was Carlinni’s. If either of them evaded Danniri and got too close to him, he had the ultimate weapon. All he had to do was to get line of sight.

  Ricky had a flotilla of butterflies in his tummy. He’d tried to cultivate Minnow’s sympathy and to a large extent he thought he’d managed it. The big man was noticeably more friendly and relaxed than any of the other guards. He’d even brought him another tube of skin gel when Ricky had showed him the blister on his foot wasn’t healing as well as it should, largely due to Ricky picking off the scab and rubbing it raw again.

  The skin gel had done its job. Nan had been conscious for three days, and by the third day her psi ability had returned. Ricky had hoped for a miracle, but when nothing happened he was forced to admit that if anyone had tried to contact Nan they had probably given up by now.

  Nan was a marvelous actress, but there was no point in wasting the second tube of skin gel until they had a better chance of getting out. They discussed the possibilities and Nan had admitted that Ricky’s plan was probably the best chance they had.

  “You’re going to have to do it all by yourself,” she’d said.

  “I know. I’m not scared.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Maybe. Just a bit.”

  “It’s all right to be scared,” Nan had said. “It means you won’t take stupid risks. But when it comes time to act, don’t let the fear freeze you.”

  “How do I stop it?”

  “You give yourself a moment to let it have its way, then you count to three and tell it to get lost. It doesn’t control you.”

  “And does that work?”

  “Always.”

  Now Ricky was going to try something a lot more dangerous than picking off a scab. He had the used blast pack hidden under the edge of Nan’s mattress. If he could swap the used one for the fresh one in Minnow’s right pocket he’d have a single dose of anesthetic. Surely if he could catch one of the guards unawares he could use it to knock him out. Maybe not Minnow, he was too big and the drug would take longer to work. Maybe the scrawny man who’d never let his name slip and who rarely answered questions. He was probably half Minnow’s weight so the drug would work faster—he hoped.

  He scrubbed at his eyes to make them red, as if he’d been crying, took the blast pack from the bed and palmed it. His heart was beating like thunder. What had Nan said? Count to three and shove the fear away. One, two, three.

  He was ready when the door lock bleeped. By the time Minnow came in with the tray of mush for Nan’s evening meal he was sitting on the floor, head in hands, looking about as low as he could.

  “What’s up, Ricky-boy?” Minnow kicked the door shut and put the tray down on the table. “I got you a bar of choc. Figured every kid loves choc.”

  That was Ricky’s opening. He jumped up and hugged Minnow around the waist, lurching into him so that he spun him with his right side away from the eye on the wall. “Minnow, you’re my only friend. No one else even talks to me.” He let his voice break and managed what he hoped were pretty convincing sobs into Minnow’s jacket front.

  “Aww, Ricky. This ain’t going to last forever. You’ll soon be out of here.” Minnow hugged him back.

  Yes, that was just what Ricky had been waiting for. He dipped his fingers into Minnow’s right pocket and substituted the used blast pack for the fully charged one, then pulled away from Minnow’s embrace.

  “Sorry. Just feeling a bit helpless, you know. With Nan so . . .” He nodded toward the bed. “It’s like she’s dead.”

  “Oh, no, boy, she ain’t dead.”

  “What’s going to happen to us?”

  “Truth, boy, I don’t know
. Danniri don’t tell us much, but her regular squad is hanging around all the time.”

  “Are they watching us all the time, on that?” Ricky pointed to the camera eye.

  Minnow dropped his voice. “Well, we do that, but truth to tell you two are pretty boring, ’specially at night.”

  “So if I want to take a dump in private I should wait until night and you might not be watching?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Thanks. It doesn’t get any easier, having the san-unit on camera, you know.”

  “I guess not. Good thing your granny’s not aware of it, right?”

  “Yeah, good thing.”

  Minnow raised the head of the bed to sit Nan up, then watched Ricky spoon the nutri-paste into her mouth. Between them they put her on the potty. She was completely compliant.

  Sorry, Nan, Ricky thought, but the alternative was even worse.

  Then Minnow slapped the empty blast pack to the side of Nan’s neck and dropped it into his left pocket.

  After Minnow left, Ricky hid the fully charged blast pack under the mattress and sat on the bed so he shielded Nan’s face from the camera eye. She looked up at him and winked. They had plans to make.

  Cara fought down her nerves as the liner landed at Arkhad Spaceport and spat them all out into the immigration lineup. The only way to get through this was to relax into the part of the new identity. Believe it. Otherwise the Empaths employed to do random checks might pick out a sense of unease and start asking too many questions.

  Cara looked at them all. It was amazing what a difference a few simple formine injections and a new haircut made. Bronsen’s cap of tight curls had given way to a severe tonsure that made him look bald except for a fringe of close-cropped hair around the back and sides. Archie had exchanged his normal mouse-brown for ginger everything, and Ronan’s skin had been darkened to copper, his luxuriant mop bleached blond and his lips thickened.

  “Have we all got the details straight?” Cara asked.

  Archie said he could handle it, but Bronsen had been nervous until Ronan had given him something to calm him down.